


The Fisherman loves the fish

by Sebs20



Category: Hunger Games Series - All Media Types
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-02
Updated: 2017-03-02
Packaged: 2018-09-27 19:23:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,057
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10041332
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sebs20/pseuds/Sebs20
Summary: Battles are wars and wars are bad and bad is worse and worse is worst but love is good and Finnick is love and Finnick loves Annie and Annie loves Finnick, so what is a love battle? Is a good bad, the worst good?





	

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! This is my first ever fic in English, so please bear with it hahaha. I have to improve my writing, so what was the best way to do it? Writing about my ships, yay.
> 
> Disclaimer: Characters are property of Suzanne Collins. The fic was inspired by Brenna Twohy's poem "The Fisherman Takes The Fish Home And Tells Her He Loves Her".

He was such a nice boy.

I met him during a Fashion Week and he was all smiles, posing for everyone, eyeing no one. He was trained to do that. He passed by me and didn't notice me, that time. He was the golden boy of Capitol Magazine & Capitol Couture. He was a model -no, he was the model. I was just Annie, standing there with my cup of champagne and my red dress, smiling at my father and a friend. He disappeared. I left, too.

.

He was the best.

I saw him again at some socialite's party. The party started at 6 pm, so I arrived at 5.45 pm. They were not expecting me to be the first, I was not expecting to be there, but there I was. The house had a dock, so after a few other visits, I slipped and went to that marvelous place. I saw the clouds, I saw the water, I saw everything and nothing. My skin started to itch and I thought 'not now, please. Later'. The itching continued but I stayed firm, against something that I didn't like.

That time I wore a simple green dress, not a night dress nor a formal dress, but a picnic dress. I was proud of it, then ashamed. The itching continued and I started to walk back at the house. And he noticed me. I, of course, noticed him but just 'oh. Finnick Odair, the model, is walking in my direction' and the itching increased. So I walked, and passed by him but he noticed me and looked at me while I entered the house. He was sitting at the dock when I left.

No smiles, no poses. Eyes, there they were, looking at the lake and the clouds. So I saw him, in my mind, while I walked to my car. He was a being of colour. Today, he was gold. Gold like his hair, like his smile, like his sparkling eyes.

.

So it was about time to talk to him. Or vice versa, because he talked to me. On my birthday. My friend was a friend of his friend. Johanna was the name of my friend's friend and Johanna was his friend and we were talking and, oh, yes, my birthday it's coming and no! Haha, no, I won't do anything. I don't like parties. I don't like people at my house. I don't like leaving my house, because my skin starts to itch and I feel like drowning and hiperventilate, so no, I prefer to buy bread when I'm coming from work than leaving my home to just buy some bread.

But here we were, in my apartment, hearing how friends and unknown people sung to me. And he was there, smiling but this was a rare smile. Another smile. I avoided everyone but talked with everyone. So, while I was eating a snack, he appeared by my side.

"Happy birthday, Annie" he said. I smiled at him but I was focused in the snack: the yummy and oh-mighty snack who maybe could save me from all this people, maybe if I eat too much, I would make everyone leave because I will be sick and- "I was expecting to be presented to you at Cashmere's party".

"I started to feel allergic" I said, looking at him. Snack, please. I want my snack. "Some sort of spring breeze".

"I too have of those" he snatched the snack that I had, and eat it. I felt utterly offended. "Allergies, I mean".

"Good" I said, standing properly. "You are human".

That day, he was lime. Pure humour, all smiles that weren't his smiles.

.

But those were his smiles.

We kept encountering each other. He was a gentleman, I was Annie. He never was Finnick until he sat by my side, again at Cashmere's dock.

"I like the sea" he said, looking at the horizon.

"Well, it's not so far away" I said. "But maybe you are longing the sea, " I grabbed a rock and threw it. "this is a lake".

"You are like the sea" he said, his gaze still on the horizon, on the water, on the cloudless sky. "I like the sea so very much. I could invite you, if you want. We could fish".

"Ok" I said and he jerked up. Smiled, laughed and looked at me.

"Tomorrow".

That time, he was yellow. He suddenly was so ecstatic, so happy, so childlike. I relaxed, a little, just enough. So I smiled at him, my real smile.

.

So we were Annie and Finnick, in Finnick's boat, at 'Finnick's sea', or that's how he called it.

"I don't believe it's your sea".

"Of course it is. I can shout and the sea will answer me". I looked at him, royal blue.

"Maybe I don't doubt you".

He chuckled, his feet dancing in the water, playing. "You are weird, Annie Cresta".

My feet touched his. Nobody said anything. "Weirdos are the best" I said.

He touched my hand and raised it. "Have you ever fished?". His fingertips traced my palm, my hand. He traced my whole body, whole Annie, in just one touch.

"I have not" I said, letting him touch my hand, so gentle, so nice, so not-touching-it. "And I don't want to".

"Why not?".

"Fishes are weirdos".

He was royal blue that day. He was deep blue that night, taking me to my house.

.

He was red.

He arrived to my apartment, painfully red. "When, exactly, do you have to work?" I asked.

He laughed. "Let me in" he pleaded. I didn't.

"You are red, Finnick. What were you doing, running from mad fans?".

"Something like that" like dancing, he entered. How, exactly? I don't know. "I realised something, Annie".

"And what's that?" I asked.

"Okay. That day at Cashmere's party, I remembered seeing you at some Fashion Week, I remembered it. That time I didn't notice you, but at the dock you were... I don't know exactly what you were... " "I was Annie". "But you were at the dock! Nobody leaves that house and you arrived before me to the dock and you don't know how weird was seeing you there. Then... then Johanna invited me to a 'fool's birthday' and I thought 'why not' and it was you and... agh! Annie, maybe, like, we've been hanging for six months, I took you to the sea, my sea. You are like the sea. I like the sea..."

A beat. "So do you like me?" I questioned.

"Yes! No! I mean, I don't know... I mean, of course I like you! But that time I told you I liked the sea and you were like the sea, I didn't thought that but it was there, I think. Annie," he took my hand, big fingers against my palm. "I want to be your boyfriend".

Broad shouldered, tan skin and golden hair. Green eyes and the brightest smile. He was nervous, he was grinning, he was no longer red but pink.

.

Then, two years passed by. He attended less to those parties, he stayed in my house some days. Those days were passion red. He kissed me tenderly, he always kissed my hand, he never touched me but with his lips and fingertips. I always loved him.

"I want to stay here forever" he said against my neck, on the sofa. "I like when you care for me".

"I like it too".

"Annie," he pleaded. "Can I stay here?"

"You are staying here".

He whined. "I mean, permanently".

"But you have an enormous house" I said, looking at his pleading eyes. "You have so much more than my apartment".

"I don't have you there".

He was passion red and we drank wine. I shrugged and he laughed. Bad wine, he said. Threw it by the sink, then emptied the bottle the same way. "Life's too short for bad wine" he said. Then sat with me on the sofa. "Life's too short for anything, but you give me time for everything".

"I love you, Finnick". And I loved him. And he loved me.

.

But he was a fisherman and I was like the sea, uncontrollable. A sea who sets fire to her own house because the alarm didn't ring or did it? I don't like alarms and my skin itches and I just forgot about the chicken, Finnick, I'm so sorry, I just wanted to do something for dinner and now everything is ash and it wasn't so important for me, but for you? I don't like the kitchen, Finnick, you know it but I wanted to do a surprise and- "Maybe we should sleep some days at my boat" he winked at me. I loved him and he started cooking chicken. He started to braid my hair those days at the boat. He started to kiss me tenderly and sweetly and Annie, I love you so much and I love you, I love you, I love you and Finnick, me too, I love you, can I kiss your lips? Can I kiss your neck? Can I hug you? Can I touch you? Can I love you? Yes, you can love me, he said. Can I love you? Finnick, my heart is for you, I said.

And we were brown. Autumn brown, like my hair.

.

The last day on the boat I- I-I-I-I- I don't know. We were there, hugging. My skin itched, I yelled at him, he shouted at me, the door was open and nobody left. We were there and the wind closed the door, slammed it. And, for Christ's sake, Finnick, leave me alone just one second, please! And Finnick, come here, please! Sorry, I- I'm sorry, Finnick. No, I'm sorry Annie. I'm so sorry, I don't know what happened.

So, it wasn't the first fight but it was. It was the first door slammed, just by the wind. And I never forgot the way he looked at me, sorrow and pain, then angry, then pain. Sadness. Lips, neck, ears, broad shoulders, tan skin, off. Lights off and he's off and then I'm off and we kissed but it was a sad kiss, yes, it was tender but not our tender. He smiled but not his smiles, not the smile.

I looked at the horizon.

Battles are wars and wars are bad and bad is worse and worse is worst but love is good and Finnick is love and Finnick loves Annie and Annie loves Finnick, so what is a love battle? Is a good bad, the worst good? It wasn't dark.

He was white, pale and off. It was a clear day, so shiny, so bright. So him.

.

He was a nice guy, but he was a fisherman and he said that I was like the sea, his sea, but I wasn't. I was a fish, and I couldn't. So I didn't. And I lost it and he, too.

.

We were watching some magician. He took me to that show, smiling, brightly. Me, too. We were Finnick and Annie. But the magician's assistant dived in that tank and, God, she was years holding her breath and I was too. And then I was shivering, shuddering, drowning and Finnick was the magician, proud and confident and trusting me and loving me and I love you too! But Finnick, I'm drowning, I can't, I won't, I don't.

I breath, I escape, but I'm not so sure. The only thing that I have no doubts about is Finnick and love and he chase me and choose me and- We weren't Finnick and Annie.

We were Finnick and the fish, Finnick and a fish.

"Maybe you deserve better" he said to me, holding my hand, crying.

"Finnick... you are the best, you are 'the better'" I said to him, without tears but without me, either.

He was a nice guy. He is a nice guy, the nice guy. The best nice guy.

I still love him. I still love Finnick, not the Golden Boy. Not smiles, pose, eyes. Maybe it was the way it had to be. Maybe there is no Finnick and Annie..., maybe we were just the fisherman and a fish.

Holding my breath, I loved and love, I felt happy. But I'm drowning in air. And the fisherman was hurting his heart, hooking it to a fish.


End file.
